The fresh morning air and the smell of damp earth after the midnight rain lingered in the forest area where the five of them had rested overnight, trying to protect themselves and their belongings from the downpour which had also extinguished their campfire, forcing them to rest under a tree until morning came. As the sun slowly rose, the five of them continued their journey towards a hill whose expanse was filled with rocks and sparse wild grass. A sight made the five of them stop in their tracks when they saw a small village behind the hill that looked on the verge of disappearing, its inhabitants' houses dilapidated and unfit for living. Its roofs were covered in moss, and the comfort in the village did not seem to promise peaceful tranquility, but rather the peace of final despair.

  As they stepped more cautiously onto the main village road, a thin man with sunken eyes approached the five of them, holding an empty container. "Wanderers...?" he asked, his voice hoarse and fragile. Namien replied with a slow nod. "Correct. We are just passing through here." The man's eyes shone with a painful hope. "Do... do you have... a piece of bread? Or anything to eat?" Upon hearing this from one of the villagers, Sora stepped forward without hesitation, opened the small bag on his back, and took out a piece of dry bread he had saved. He handed it to the man. The man, receiving the bread from Sora as if he had just obtained something precious, was about to offer tearful thanks when the moment shattered. From the narrow alleys and dilapidated doorways, dozens of other villagers emerged, their eyes fixed on the five newcomers who had just given bread to one of them. In an instant, they rushed towards the group, becoming a desperate mob. Several people brutally jumped on the man, trying to snatch the bread Sora had given him. Others swarmed Sora's group, falling to their knees, begging for any food they had, even offering to lick their boots just for a morsel.

  Arelan, who had been observing with a clenched jaw, could no longer stand it. His face grew dark with disgust and anger. "ENOUGH! You resemble starving wolves more than humans! Control yourselves!" he shouted, his voice echoing like thunder through the village, freezing everyone in place. Before Arelan could continue, another sound broke the tension the clatter of dozens of horses' hooves running towards the village and the clanging of armor. From the end of the road, a group of mercenaries entered the village, about 45 strong man, moving with disciplined and threatening presence. Among their ranks clad in dull armor, one figure wore more captivating helm and armor and rode calmly, his face hidden within his helm. At their head, a man in polished black armor and an ornate helm sat arrogantly atop a sturdy white horse. He appeared to be the leader of the mercenary group. Seeing their arrival, the villagers began to scream in fear and scattered, disappearing into their fragile homes, leaving the street deathly silent with only the five travelers remaining. Sora's eyes began to understand what he was seeing, assessing that something was wrong here, his anger visible in his cold expression and burning within him. His gaze locked onto the mercenary leader on the white horse.

  "Look what we’ve got here, late-coming heroes arriving to feed the commoners. Truly a heartwarming sight." the leader said mockingly, his eyes dancing between Sora's group, making all his subordinates laugh at his words. "Don't get provoked; there are too many of them compared to us right now," Namien quickly whispered to Vael, unnoticed by the mercenaries. Sora ignored Namien's whisper. His hand slowly moved to the hilt of his sword. The leader saw Sora's movement and laughed at him. “You want to fight us, lad? With that worn-out looking sword you're holding, huh? You might be strong, but you wouldn't last a second against all of us.” The mercenary leader insulted Sora, laughing, followed by his subordinates.

  As the mercenary leader seemed to enjoy the moment and prepared to give an order, the cloaked figure beside him moved her brown horse closer. She whispered briefly into her leader's ear; no one else could hear what she said, but the leader's expression changed from amused mockery to consideration. Finally, the leader made his decision, giving an arrogant nod of agreement to the cloaked figure. "Hmph, you might have a point. They aren't worth our precious time. Very well the, looks like it's your lucky day, little heroes," the group leader said dismissively, looking towards Sora with a contemptuous smirk. With a single tug on his reins, the leader turned his horse. "Let's go! Let these late heroes play with these beggars, trying to give them scraps!" The entire mercenary group laughed as they moved to leave the village, leaving behind a trail of dust and humiliation. Sora could only stand there silently, his hand clenched so tightly on his sword hilt that his knuckles turned white. Kaelith, seeing Sora like this, felt his anger too, but she gently placed her hand on his shoulder to calm him. "Let it go, Sora. They aren't worth facing," she whispered, trying to soothe the storm within him.

  Namien didn't look at the departing mercenaries or their leader; instead, his eyes were fixed on the cloaked figure now disappearing in the distance. "That cloaked girl... she stopped the fight, not out of mercy, but with her calculation," Namien murmured, more to himself, pondering the cloaked girl's motives. Meanwhile, Vael and Arelan could only watch in frustrated silence. They exchanged a look filled with bitter memories; they had seen scenes like this before when they were still under Borreal's banner. Where the strong oppressed the weak, often highlighting an understanding of the law of the jungle that had to be accepted in a ruined and brutal world.

  The dust from the mercenaries' horses still hung in the air when Sora finally loosened his grip on his sword hilt. The burning anger behind his eyes slowly dimmed, but the emotion remained beneath his quiet calm. Namien turned towards the cluster of dilapidated houses where the villagers were now hiding in extreme fear, peeking through the cracks. Their faces looked tormented, as if hope itself had long abandoned them; even their children seemed as if they had forgotten how to laugh.

  Namien, walking slowly and calmly, followed by Sora and the others, approached one of the houses. It was so old its wood was nearly rotten and warped from termites, its roof patched with cloth and moss. A woman stood in the doorway, clutching a thin, weak child tightly to her chest. Her eyes, as the five looked at her, were filled more with fear than trust. But when she saw the piece of bread Sora had given the pleading man, her expression eased slightly. Namien stepped forward first, raising both hands peacefully toward the woman. “We’re not here to hurt anyone, but we need to understand… What just happened? And who were those people?” Namien asked calmly. The woman hesitated, her eyes darting nervously down the road the mercenaries had taken. “They call themselves The Gallows Sun. Mercenaries, wolves in armor. They took over our village about three months ago,” she said. Kaelith stepped beside Namien, her arms crossed. “And the village didn’t fight back?”

  “We’ve tried. Two brave men gathered the others… tried to fight back. One was my husband… the other, the blacksmith’s brother. That tree… it’s proof. They hanged them from its branches… an example. Skinned them… left them there for two days under the hot sun until they dried on the ropes… Now, three of them is dead on that dead tree leafless.” The woman’s voice trembled, and she swallowed hard to mask her fear. Arelan said nothing, but emotion surged within him, his fingers tightening on his axe handle. Namien let out a sharp breath. “And what do they want from this village?”

  “Everything,” a voice rasped from inside the woman’s house. An old, frail man stood and shuffled forward, his eyes clouded with age. “Food. Treasure. Even women… to satisfy their desires. The strong are forced to serve them… the weak are used for… other things. They come back whenever they please, like we’re cattle. And today…” He looked at Sora. “They saw something unexpected moment. Someone who refused to bow… who murmured resistance. That’s why you’re still breathing. But none of us know for how much longer.”

  “They would have fought, if not for her,” Kaelith murmured, glancing at Sora. Namien nodded grimly. “It was calculated. She didn’t stop the bloodshed out of mercy, Kaelith. She’s playing a longer game than we realize.” Sora moved past them and slowly knelt beside the old man, who was still trembling, barely able to meet his eyes. Sora gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The simple warmth of the gesture meant more than any words. The old man looked up at him. “You’re not like the others. Something in your eyes… not hope… not anger… something deeper. Like someone who’s seen the worst and still steps forward,” the old man whispered with his astonished tone.

  Vael, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. “We can’t stay much longer in here. But we can do something about them,” Arelan glanced at him. “Did you thinking what I’m thinking?” Vael nodded. “Give them something to surprises. Even if just for one night.” Namien cracked his knuckles. “You know, i hate playing being a hero. But I’d enjoy breaking those bastards tonight. Are you in, Kaelith?” Kaelith gave a thin smirk, her bow already prepared. “Namien, I have plenty of arrows left for hunting wolves right now.” Sora stood, hearing his companions. He turned towards the road the mercenaries had taken. His hand rested on his sword hilt. The decision was made. The sun had set. Night was coming for the wolves in armor.

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  As night fell, the village lay silent. Shadows cast by a small fire Sora had built danced along the empty main street. He sat cross-legged, sword beside him, watching the flames. A chill crept over his skin, a whisper of something approaching. Kaelith moved among the trees at the village edge, her eyes adjusting to the moonlit dark. She found crushed herbs, broken twigs, animal tracks—no immediate threat, but her instincts remained sharp. Something felt wrong, waiting. At the village entrance, Vael leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed as he sat, eyes fixed ahead. Beside him, Arelan stood, arms folded, axes still on his back. They exchanged only brief nods, old soldiers sharing the same premonition. They knew the silence wouldn't last. And Namien paced methodically behind the village, boots kicking gravel, brow furrowed in thought. He muttered calculations, discarding theories mid-sentence. His mind raced, sharp and uncomfortable. Then he felt it a presence, a gaze like a thread pulled taut at the back of his neck, subtle but relentless. Namien stopped, letting the silence settle. Then, without turning, he spoke with unnerving calm. “How long have you been watching me?”. The figure behind him emerged from the roof shadows with quiet grace, landing almost silently. She wore the same hooded cloak as before, but this time stepped unhesitatingly into the torchlight. Namien finally turned. She stood not far away, short brown hair partially covering her cheek, her eyes black as ink in the moonlight. Her presence was quiet but precise, like a nocked arrow. “I don’t like being watched,” Namien said flatly, arms folded behind his back, weary eyes observing her. “I wasn’t stalking. I was observing. You’re sharper than most people i’ve met who doesn’t even notice my presence,” she replied flatly.

  “However, we are here now, and I assume you have a name to introduce, don’t you?” Namien said with his characteristic faint smirk. The hooded figure hesitated to answer. Then, with a cold nod, she responded to Namien, “Lyra, Lyra Vesperia.” Namien raised his eyebrows. “The Dusk Phantom, huh? Fits your nickname.” Lyra did not deny the nickname Namien gave her. “And why did you stop your ‘noble’ commander earlier? I saw you whisper something to him, and you saved us from bloodshed. A pity moment, if your troops hadn't followed your restraint, we would have been finished then,” Namien continued. “I didn’t stop him for your sake; I stopped him because it was pointless. Your group wouldn’t be easily defeated, judging from one of you, and many would become victims if it led to a fight, unwanted attention, and chaos,” Lyra replied, slightly annoyed by Namien’s statement. Namien looked at her silently for a few moments, then nodded once. “So, a realist, not a sadist, eh? That’s better than the man you serve.” Lyra’s expression began to show disgust, guilt, and a weariness that was difficult to express, but finally, she spoke. “I don’t serve him; I just survive through him so far,” she murmured. Namien, hearing Lyra’s answer, narrowed his eyes. “Do you enjoy it? Marching with murderers, plunderers, who burn every village when they stop there, and taking what you shouldn’t take it from people who have nothing, who just want to survive like you, to fulfill the desires of that greedy leader you consider?” Fire flashed briefly in Lyra’s black eyes. “I have lived through what they inflicted on me, and I do what I must. I am not proud of it, but I am not naive enough to think I have any other choice but that to keep living in this ruined world.”

  A nauseating pause hung between them as Namien tilted his head slightly, observing her with something softer now, stemming from his understanding of every action Lyra had ever taken; Namien even felt respect for her. "Fair enough for me, and you still have a choice right now to reflect on every word those bastards said by looking at the condition of these villagers. Don't compare it with my words, just see and listen to what happened earlier this afternoon as for reflection," Namien said slowly, making Lyra say nothing but bow her head to look down at her feet. Namien didn't stop her when she turned to leave his presence, but before Lyra disappeared back into the darkness, he asked her one last question while she was still within sight, shouting. "Will they attack tonight?" Lyra paused for a moment, and her voice sounded cold, but clearly somber. "Just wait and see, you'll find out the answer soon enough." Then Lyra left like a wind held back too long, finally blowing again. Namien watched her departure for a moment longer, even after Lyra had disappeared from his sight, then he looked up at the sky where the stars shone dimly among the drifting clouds. "She has a point too, about what she's done," he murmured, more to himself.

  At the edge of the village, the forest was thick with fog, making the moonlight shine down in fragments, leaving traces of its light on the tree branches and pooling on the damp ground. Kaelith moved silently among the trees, her fingers touching the fletching of the arrow already nocked on her bow, her eyes observing every movement within her range. Then, the sound of a breaking twig made Kaelith raise her arrow before her heart could beat twice as fast, aiming towards it, unwavering from her position. Kaelith asked coldly to whoever was hiding there, "Whoever's there, show yourself! I won't shoot without a clear reason." Silence filled the entire forest, only the sound of the night wind was heard after that. Then, a hooded figure landed lightly from a tree branch, landing in a graceful and cautious crouch. The hood covered her face, and her posture showed no panic. Kaelith sensed something about the person, “You again? The woman who whispered something to the mercenary earlier. What are you doing in this forest? Ambushing? Spying?” Lyra lowered her hood, her identity revealed, and answered Kaelith with a calm and unreadable expression, “Not really, I was just walking in this forest; its silence helps me calm down, at least. Do you have any object for that?” Kaelith narrowed her eyes, her voice sharpening, “What kind of person ‘just walks around’ by climbing trees and hiding in the shadows.” Lyra tilted her head slightly, “What kind of person asks questions with their bow already aimed at the person they're talking to, who also isn't usually seen picking berries?” Kaelith drew her arrow tighter until her bow creaked, aiming it at her, “Answer my question clearly. I don’t like riddles in the dark. Are you watching us or not?” Lyra stepped forward calmly towards Kaelith, her figure now hit by the moonlight, and lifted her head, “I watch everything. That’s how I survive, at least.”

  Kaelith’s eyes narrowed, and her tone lowered. “Then you saw the last person who tried to watch me from the trees.” Lyra’s lips curved into an almost-smirk. “I saw you in my mind if you shot that arrow. Your aim is good, your fingers are fast, and your breath is stable, but you rely too much on sound as your guide.” Kaelith, sharp and offended by Lyra's words now, responded sharply. “Try to make me sweat, ghost. And let’s see how long your shadow lasts in the storm that will rage.” Lyra answered Kaelith coldly and calmly, “You’ll shoot first, won’t you?” Kaelith released some of her tension, but not her arrow, “I’ve shot with less result than you before.” A tap of a tree branch as the wind shook the trees around them. Lyra answered her request, “Alright, let’s see how strong the wind is when you’re cornered.”

  Suddenly, Lyra vanished from Kaelith's sight in an instant. Kaelith murmured to herself and adjusted her position, “You chose the forest that allows you to erase your presence, ghost.” The entire forest was silent as two hunters moved, not in unison and not silently either, but based on their instincts facing each other. Kaelith’s bow creaked loudly multiple times as she released her arrows, Lyra’s figure constantly disappearing from one place to another at the edge of Kaelith’s vision, Lyra vanishing like a shadow swallowing the last light of night.

  In the silence of the forest, where the moonlight barely touched the moss-covered ground, the echo of the clash between the two silent predators began to fade. As Kaelith remained silent in her position, her tightly drawn bowstring now lowered, her breath regulated as their fight reached its end, her heart pounded not from fear but from satisfaction with Lyra, who was not only skilled but also fast and careful. It had been a long time since Kaelith met someone who made her instincts this raw, and she exhaled slowly, her bow returned to her back as the tension in its string began to show looseness. “That ghost… she wasn’t trying to kill me, but she could have,” she murmured, standing in the middle of the forest. There was no fear in her voice, only the consideration of a hunter analyzing the weight of her opponent's hand.

  Meanwhile, far among the forest trees, Lyra stood with her back leaning against the trunk of a large pine tree. Its shadow clung to her cloak as if it were her second skin. She pulled her hood down to cover her face and whispered to herself as she glanced back towards where Kaelith stood. "She doesn't hesitate. That woman's soul is fire forged into a storm, just like she said." Lyra paused for a moment with a faint smile touching the corner of her lips. "But that storm is still raging before becoming an uncontrollable fury, but behind it, there's something strange about her." The challenge was unplanned. Lyra didn't intend to reveal herself again that night, but something inside Lyra had forced her to face Kaelith's bow, to measure herself and test her worthiness with her strength. And Kaelith was considered her rival, whom Lyra did not give cheap honor to and made no pretense in acknowledging her prowess. Lyra's instincts, honed by survival, could judge from their fight that they shared one commonality: they both did not fight for praise but fought to protect something within themselves. Lyra disappeared again into the misty trees without a sound. However, her mind was still buzzing about the fight earlier. “I will keep watching from the shadows, and let’s see how long you last with that storm of yours.”

  Back near the line of trees, Kaelith turned her gaze towards the stars breaking through the gaps in the forest canopy. Her heartbeat was calmer now, but the memory of the nearly silent footsteps and the whisper of the wind carried a tension that hadn't disappeared from what she felt. Whoever that woman was, she wasn't just dangerous; she was important. And deep down, Kaelith knew they would meet again, not as strangers in the dark, but as something more perilous.

  Ally or rival? Only time would tell what next could be happen?